


Family

by paperstorm



Series: 12 Days of Stucky Christmas [12]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Found Family, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Romance, Wakanda (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21934138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperstorm/pseuds/paperstorm
Summary: Part 12 of the 12 Days of Stucky Christmas series. Steve and Bucky celebrate with their new family in Wakanda.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: 12 Days of Stucky Christmas [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559701
Comments: 20
Kudos: 79





	Family

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends! This is the final fic of the series. Thank you so much for reading, and Merry Christmas!

_2017_  
  
It’s not a short walk into the city, but it’s a nice one. Lush green fields, herds of animals, flocks of crane soaring overhead. Bucky follows the river, until it bends in the wrong direction, and then he follows the well-worn path through the jungle. He has a knife strapped to the outside of his thigh, underneath his robes, just in case, but animal attacks are rare in this part of the country. He’s never been approached by a predator. Except the Black Panther, he thinks, and then chuckles to himself at his own dumb joke.  
  
Steve is coming today. It puts a bounce in Bucky’s steps. He isn’t the same, as the person he used to be a century ago. He likely never will be. But he’s miles better, than he was. Sometimes there are still nightmares, flashbacks, days where it’s difficult to even lift his head off the pillow. Sometimes the guilt over what he’s done consumes him and swallows him whole and he can’t dig himself back out. Sometimes the memories of torture still haunt him. Probably, they always will. But he’s safe here, and the people in the village are kind, and Steve visits as much as he can. It’s always better, when he’s here. Bucky enjoys building a new life for himself, but he enjoys it even more when Steve is here to share it with him. Like they did in Brooklyn. Like they should have gotten to after the war. No use in shedding tears over _what if_. Bucky has him back, he has his identity and his life and a new home. It’s more than he deserves, and he’s grateful for it every day.  
  
The city shimmers, like it always does. Brilliant white and cavernous black and the sparkle of bright, shining colors. The bustle of people, the formless din of noise, merchants and families and the commotion of mid-day. Today is just any other day, to them. Christmas doesn’t exist, here. They have other holidays, other days of celebration and remembrance and worship. Bucky’s learning all about them, with the help of the children in his village. It still exists to him, though, and to Steve and his friends. So they’re coming to celebrate it all together. Bucky hadn’t been expecting that, and he’d barely been able to contain his smile when Steve had told him over the phone. A big, happy family like he used to have in Brooklyn with his parents and Becca and Steve and Sarah. Laughing and arguing and being together.  
  
They’ve already arrived, when Bucky gets to the suite at the palace where Wilson and Romanov usually stay when they spend any time in Wakanda. He thanks the Dora Milaje who shows him to the door, nodding politely at her before she turns robotically and walks back down the hall. Then he knocks on the door, and opens it himself without waiting to be let in.  
  
In the expansive living room area, Natasha and Sam are in a corner near the window with a fake Christmas tree, setting it up and wrapping strings of lights around it. Sam is wearing a red and green sweater with a cartoon snowman on it, and Natasha has a sparkly gold bow in her hair – the kind that would be taped to the top of a wrapped present, except instead it’s taped to the top of her head.  
  
“Merry Christmas James Barnes!” Sam shouts, strange and monotone, in a way that is clearly a reference to something Bucky doesn’t understand.  
  
Bucky presses his lips together to supress a laugh. “Where did you get a tree?”  
  
“Walmart,” Natasha tells him. “In Toronto, where we were before coming here.”  
  
“We have decorations.” Sam holds up a cardboard box with a clear plastic window on the front, revealing a set of blue and gold and sparkles.  
  
Bucky closes the door behind him and walks over, curiously examining the box. The ornaments are all different, some are balls, some snowflakes and icicles, others in more oblong shames, but they all coordinate. “Huh. They didn’t used to sell ornaments in sets like this, all matching.”  
  
“They didn’t used to do a lot of things, old man,” Sam teases, poking Bucky’s shoulder.  
  
Footsteps sound behind him, and before Bucky can even turn around, 200 pounds of super-soldier crashes into him from the back, arms wrapping around his waist so tightly it’s the only thing that keeps him from being knocked right off his feet.  
  
“ _Oof_ ,” he grunts, laughing as the wind is taken out of him a little. “Hi, Steve.”  
  
“He has been unbearable the last few days,” Natasha says dryly. She pulls a length of gold ribbon from another bag and starts unwinding it in her hands. “Wanted to get here more than he wanted to do literally anything else.”  
  
“It’s Christmas,” Steve says by way of an explanation, muffled because his face is pressed into Bucky’s shoulder.  
  
Bucky wrestles himself loose just enough to turn around in Steve’s arms and return the embrace properly, not caring that they’re two feet away from two other people. He would have, when he first got here. He isn’t used to being able to openly love Steve. In Brooklyn, he couldn’t. He’s used to it now.  
  
“Missed you,” Steve says, emphatically. He’s so much less stoic, these days, than he used to be. During the war, and in those first few months after Bucky came out of cryo. He’s back to the bright, passionate, enthusiastic boy Bucky used to know, the person Steve was when they were alone together in their apartment and he felt safe to be himself and let slip the mask he held in place for the sake of everyone else. Like he’s daring to hope, again. “Merry Christmas.”  
  
“Merry Christmas,” Bucky returns, smiling into the kiss Steve presses to his lips.  
  
“Alright, stop making out and help us with the tree!” Sam demands.  
  
Steve laughs against Bucky’s mouth. He pecks him twice more, and then lets go of him and grabs a handful of ornaments.  
  
Shuri joins them after a while, showing up with a massive bag of presents – mostly incredible new gadgets she’d made them in her lab. T’Challa follows soon after, and a few others that Bucky’s met once or twice, and before too long the spacious apartment is filled with people and noise and happiness.  
  
Later, when everyone is distracted by food and laughter echoes off the walls of the suite, Steve leans over Bucky and whispers in his ear. Bucky gets up off the couch and follows him out to the balcony. The night is warm, not as sweltering as it had been this afternoon now that the sun has gone down. Just still, and humid, and warm. The air wraps around them like a blanket, soaking into Bucky’s skin and muscles, relaxing and therapeutic. The lights of the city glitter before them, brighter and more sparkly than the tree inside.  
  
“Havin’ fun?” Bucky asks.  
  
Steve smiles and nods. He holds a hand out, and Bucky allows himself to be pulled in. Steve trails fingers through his hair, brushing it back off his forehead and then leaving a kiss there, before he wraps Bucky completely up in his arms and starts swaying him, moving slowly from foot to foot.  
  
“Have yourself a merry little Christmas,” Steve sings softly against Bucky’s ear.  
  
Bucky shivers in his arms, the words and Steve’s voice sliding down his spine. He tightens his grip around Steve’s waist, fingers squeezing a handful of his t-shirt. “I heard that song,” he whispers. “In Bucharest. In a grocery store. Took me back to that night during the war. Made me remember … that you loved me.”  
  
“I loved you so much,” Steve whispers back. “Still do. Always will.”  
  
“Me too.”  
  
“That should’ve been our last Christmas.” Steve rotates them slightly as they sway. Bucky wonders if they’re being watched; if their friends are inside looking at them through the glass wall. He finds he doesn’t care enough to lift his head up and find out. “But the fates brought you back to me. Like the song says. Together again.”  
  
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”  
  
“In fate? No, not really. But it’s a nice thought. At Christmas. And we’re together, either way. I don’t care how it happened.”  
  
“Neither do I.”  
  
Steve hums the rest of the song, holding Bucky close as they move together. Bucky never, ever wants it to end.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me [on tumblr](http://paper-storm.tumblr.com/) [or twitter](https://twitter.com/turningthedials) if you want!


End file.
